


Deserving

by equiknox



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternative Perspective, Comedy, Drama, M/M, POV Multiple, Points of View, Romance, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-12 04:41:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11729709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/equiknox/pseuds/equiknox
Summary: After a chaotic meeting at a nightclub, Tony Stark's single, perfectly managed life is jerked from the road he has tried so hard to stay on and he has one person to blame - Steve Rogers. But for Steve, Tony is his new muse he can't seem to forget. Heartbreak is not so easy to recover from, but it's been three years. Will Steve be able to prove to Tony that he is indeed deserving of another chance at love?





	1. Messy, Messy

Without any recollection of where I was exactly, I spent a good five minutes gathering my thoughts along with the pieces of the man I used to be. I’d never drank this much before, nor have I ever accumulated sweat on my ass to this level. My first instinct, as a completely drunken man, was to search the club for my best friend and hopefully convince him to go home by exhibiting to him the mess I’ve turned into within the last - God, I don’t even know how long we’ve stayed. 

 

The true test of my strength was getting up from the unusually gelatinous cushion of the booth I’d been glued to for x amount of hours. After a few trials, I’d manage to get on my feet, not without sweat beginning to bead on my forehead. My feet, to their own power, started to move in a direction I had no particular knowledge of. My eyes, of course, were of no help under the bright neon lights projecting onto the dancefloor. 

 

With my terrible eyesight paired with the constant swaying of my body, I made the mistake of stepping into the dancing territory. Baby steps, I repeated to whatever conscience was left in my head. Of course that sure didn’t help me, as I felt myself receive a shove from all angles and all dimensions. But while I was pushing myself through a particular crowd that reeked of alcohol and perspiration, I felt my knees betray me and the next thing I knew, I was eye to eye with the purplish blue floor of the venue. Oh Tony, I see a great deal of bathing, hand washing, and hand sanitizing in your very near future. Not only had I exposed my body to a collection of fluids during that ordeal, I also just contaminated my hands with whatever lived on this ground. Lord knows the wetness I felt under my fingers was not caused by water. 

 

The longer I stayed on my hands and knees the more the idea of passing out appealed to me. Rhodey would find me eventually, wherever the hell he was right now. Before I could even imagine where he was, a pair of hands pulled me out of my thoughts and up onto my feet. I admit, expressing my gratitude should have been my first response, but the blinding lights and the bass-enhanced music made me unable to correctly assess the situation at hand. My funky vision probably brought on by the five margaritas I downed only allowed me to see colors, and I could only identify the man (I’m guessing) that helped me by the color of his hair and the the color of his shirt - blonde and a navy blue, respectively. A proper combination I suppose. 

 

“Thank you,” I called out over the music, hoping he’d hear me the first time because I waited for no answer as I trekked past him and to the bar. My feet dragged under me as I slid into a chair at the counter, burying my face in my arms immediately.

 

“You look like shit,” A voice laughed in my ear. “You’re not dying are you?”

 

“If I didn’t love you, James Rhodes,” I grumbled as I sat up to glare at my best friend, “I’d have told you to fuck off. Actually, I don’t care. Fuck off.” I signaled the bartender for a water.

 

“And you sound terrible,” Rhodey laughed, again. Clearly, we were both drunk. 

 

“My throat’s dry,” I grumbled, taking the glass of water from the man across the counter and downing it as fast as I could.

 

“Almost as dry as your love life.” He joked, but he avoided eye contact just before I could furrow my eyebrows at him.

 

“Listen-” I started, but he interrupted me with an obnoxiously loud cough. I held back for a second, confused and slightly concerned. “What are-” I began to ask, but he coughed once more. His eyes were big, and they were darting between me and something behind me. I was ready to ask him if he’d taken on smoking and this was just his body dying, but I read the signs after what probably felt like a millennia. I turned my head slightly just enough so I could see the direction of where he was looking

 

“That guy’s been staring at you since you sat down.” My eyes scanned the sea of dancing silhouettes, not exactly understanding what I was looking for. 

 

“I’m lost - there’s probably a hundred ‘guys’ in this club right now,” I murmured, ready to give up and ask for another water. “Can we go ho-” I turned towards him, but before I could beg him to call a taxi, he’s got a subtle finger pointing into the crowd. 

 

“Blonde hair, navy blue shirt.” Huh. That sounded awfully familiar. 

 

I look harder, scrutinizing every body until my eyes land on the man Rhodey had been referencing. My funktown vision paired with shit memory made it hard to find him, but I in fact recognized the man as the one who helped me earlier. However, I did not recognize the hands he helped me up with, as they were attached to some guy’s ass. A true gentleman, I scoffed.

 

“I have to burn this shirt, I have to cut off my arms-”

 

“He’s coming,” Rhodey leaned in and whispered, a little ominously, might I add. I didn’t like that at all. When he saw my confused expression, he leaned in closer and repeated what he had just said, assuming the issue was the lack of hearing on my part. The scent of lemon that escaped his mouth drifted between us and traveled to my nose. I squinted in response, and he was just about to repeat what he’d say a third time and receive a proper shove from me before I saw his face visibly turn a lighter shade. 

 

“Nine out of ten of those cocktails were not a good idea,” he gurgled. I didn’t like the sound of that at all.

 

Before I could ask if he was alright and needed to go, he had gotten out of his seat and sprinted past me to the direction of the bathroom. As I got up unsteadily to follow him, I turned hastily into what felt like a brick wall. A headache formed as a result of the collision, causing me to stagger back and reach for the side of my skull. I shut my eyes tight for a moment, seeking relief in the darkness. 

 

“Oh man, I’m so sorry,” the voice I assumed to be the wall’s apologized. “Are you okay?”

 

“Always,” I pinched the bridge of my nose, hoping to settle down the throbbing before I opened my eyes. “I’m sorry too, I-” Oh. Standing in front of me was none other than ass-grabbing blondie, who, to my surprise, was brandishing a rather worried look. Kind of confusing, having just seen him grab an ass like his life depended on it. Cute, I might add. 

 

Bad Tony, your friend is probably dying. Get out of here.

 

“You’re fine,” I gave a quick smile before sidestepping so I could save Rhodey, who was probably hanging over a toilet by now. But before I could get anywhere, an arm belonging to Mr.Wall shot up and grabbed my arm.

 

“Wait,” he exclaimed, “are you leaving already?” He asked, his large blue eyes reflecting the colors of the beams of light shooting across the club. Almost as if they were swallowing my being whole, I felt lost and confused just by staring into them. Okay, margaritas, I'm going to need you to stop for just a second.

 

“Um, yes.” I responded briefly and concisely, initiating another attempt to walk past him. Alas, it turned out to be a fruitless attempt as both of his hands shot up to grab my shoulders. I refuse to think of where his hands have been in the past hour.  I’m taking it back - this guy isn’t very cute right now. 

 

“Alright,” I shook his hands off of me, irritated and desperate for freedom, “here’s what we’re not gonna do: touch me a third time with or without my consent. I have places to be, mister…” I turned my palm towards him to cue his name.

 

“Steve,” he politely played along, not at all affected by what I was saying apparently.

 

“Right on. So, Mr.Steve, if you would please refrain from getting in my way, this exchange would be much less creepy on my end, trust me. Tell me, do you enjoy touching strangers?” 

 

“No,” his worried look from earlier had been replaced by a hurt expression, “I just wanted your na-”

 

“Okay, here we go,” I interrupted him before he could finish, “I don’t really know what kind of guy you take me for, but I don’t hook up with strangers I meet in clubs. That’s how you end up in the emergency room seven days later, listing the symptoms of an infection to a doctor. I have a job. I don’t have time for that, do you hear me?” I almost spat, my migraine intensifying after every word I managed to get out. Before he could conjure up a response, I stormed away - or as best as I could with my legs still in the condition of jelly - to where Rhodey was, presumably in a stall, throwing his little guts up. 

 

I pushed open the heavy industrial bathroom door, almost reliving another collision as someone drunk out of his mind thought walking through walls was possible walked out. When the door closed behind me, the music from the dancefloor dissipated and I was left only with silence. Pure, unadulterated silence.

 

“I hate my life,” a voice groaned from one of the stalls, followed by the distinguishable sound of him throwing up.

 

Nevermind.

 


	2. Are You Following Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's rough night continues into the next day - so does his luck.

When I woke up, I was surprised to wake up in my own bed. In fact, my apartment was the last place I’d expected to be in after whatever hellscape went down last night. The last thing I remembered happening was getting pushed up against a wall by someone I was dancing with. A fun night indeed.

 

_ Buzz. _

 

Pushing myself up with my elbow, I tried to look for my phone. I immediately regretted it as my body reminded me of the night before. I laid back down, the sides of my head instantly throbbing at my sudden movement. Sunrays beaming through my window and hitting my face did not help me whatsoever. Resorting to just reaching and feeling around the bedside table, I eventually found it. 

 

“Hello?” My God, I sound terrible.

 

“Did you just get done smoking 10 packs?” I didn’t need a contact name to figure out who that sarcastic voice belonged to. “Where are you right now?”

 

“In bed, where the fuck else?” I grumbled, squinting at my bedside table, attempting to read the time. “What happened last night?”

 

“Well, if it weren’t for me,” Sam began his matter-of-factly tone, “you’d probably be in a motel room, handcuffed to the bed.” 

 

“What?”

 

“You can’t honestly tell me that girl you were dancing with didn’t look like she had a criminal record.” A good point. “I saved your life buddy.”

 

“How’d you even get into my apartment?” I asked, persevering through the pain and finally sitting up. Mustering up all the strength I had and concentrating it into my legs, I got up in a space slower than a snail’s. Dragging my feet on the floor, I treaded off to the bathroom, still wearing my clothes from last night.

 

“First of all, you’re welcome,” he sang. My Best Friend Loves Ruining Mornings, an autobiography written by Steve Rogers - has a nice ring to it. “Second of all, you were worried you’d lose yours and gave me a copy for safekeeping.” Sounded suspicious, but I didn’t bother poking at the topic. Sam was right 99% of the time, the other 1% exclusive to when he’s not sober.

 

“Great,” I mumbled, dealing with the most excruciating migraine I’ve had the misfortune of experiencing in the past twenty five years. Looking at my reflection in the bathroom, it was no wonder why Margarita boy avoided me. If me sounding like a veteran smoker wasn’t enough to explain what kind of night I had, my disheveled hair and stained shirt would have given it away. This was my favorite shirt too. 

 

“Anyway, I’m wondering if you could do me a solid? I got a date this Tuesday, it’s for my girl’s birthday and she really wants me to be there this time. She’s bringing her parents - Steve, her father hates me already.” 

 

“Sam, I’m not beating her dad up. Not again. You need to learn how to deal with people, son.” 

 

“No, no, listen,” he stifled a laugh, “can you work for me Tuesday? I promise Thor’s not working that day. I’ll work for you on Saturday too, if you want.” I could hear him using his super polite, ‘I’m-a-good-friend’ tone. Considering that Sam’s girlfriend at the moment is the only girl that’s stayed with him for this long, I don’t want to be the reason why he never finds love again. I’m no monster.

 

“Yeah man, no problem,” I assured him, turning the faucet on and turning it to the coldest setting possible. “I’ll talk to you later, I really need to get something for my headache.” We exchanged our see-you-laters and I slipped my phone into my back pocket. With the sensation of the world spinning in fast motion plaguing me, I splashed my face with the cold water. 

 

-

 

The convenience store was only a block down from my apartment, but in my current state, I felt like I had walked a lap around the city. The sun against my skin felt like acid rain and I couldn't stop squinting at everything I looked at. Point blank, I felt like shit. At least the gross smells from last night were washed away in the shower. I didn't smell like vomit, dried sweat, or worse, desperation anymore.

 

"Good morning," the cashier in the front greeted me as I walked through the automatic sliding doors of the store. It is 12 PM,  _ please don't _ . I ignored the comment and immediately made a beeline to the medicine aisle. I just needed relief from this cruel migraine not a conversati -

 

"Oof!" 

 

After turning the corner, I slammed into a body. Granted, I wasn't paying attention. But seeing as though this is the second time in 24 hours, when do I ever?

 

"What is it with my luck and crashing into people?" A familiar aggravated voice filled my ears.

 

I had to step back to process who was in front of me. 

 

What were the odds that I would crash into Margarita boy twice in a week? Apparently, very high. But holy Adonis, did he look just as captivating as he did the first time. When he realized who I was, he gave me the same "what the fuck" stare he had on his face last night. 

 

"Sor-" I began, but was interrupted almost immediately after.

 

"Are you following me?" He raised that sharp eyebrow of his at me. I know the question was supposed to be serious, and it was an extremely valid one too, believe me. But the way his hair fell slightly in front of his eyes and how his zip up jacket hung loosely over his shoulder revealing some skin made it impossible for me to focus on giving an answer. He looked even more attractive now that I wasn't drunk.

 

"Oh my God, are you?" He asked, disgust slowly painting his face. "Listen-"

 

"I know, I know," I held my hands up, a feeling of deja vu coming over me. "You don't hook up with guys at clubs." He seemed surprised that I remembered, but let me tell you. If you were told something with those lips of his I promise you you wouldn't forget either. "I'm not following you. If I was, I would be smart enough not to get caught." I assured him, but I could see the skepticism in his eyes. I didn't blame him. My hair I didn't bother to comb and my bloodshot eyes probably didn't scream Albert Einstein.

 

"Why are you here then?" He asked.

 

"Headache medicine," I responded a beat late, almost forgetting my purpose. Even my headache forgot its job of making my life miserable. He was a distraction. But a distraction I liked.

 

"Get this one," he pulled out of his red basket a box, "it'll give you results in about an hour." It was almost exciting, getting advice from him. I'm not even going to ask if that was weird.

 

"Where is it?" I asked, positive I sounded more thrilled than I should have been. His fingers peeked out of the overgrown sleeves he had on and pointed at one of the shelves behind him. Lord help me, for this man was both sexy  _ and _ cute. 

 

"So," I attempted to start a conversation as I walked over to the shelf, "can I get a name now?" But I only got a laugh in response.

 

"Just because I told you which medicine to get does not mean we're friends now." Ouch. 

 

"I expected you to be nicer now that you weren't drunk," I joked, but he certainly knew how to hurt a man's pride.

 

"Dear," he chuckled as he pulled another item off the shelf he was standing in front of, "I wasn't being mean just because I said no last night.  _ You _ let your feelings get hurt, not me." I should have gotten offended. I should have argued back right away and confronted him. But the man called me dear. He got me good.

 

"Maybe you're right," I acknowledged, taking the box off the shelf. "But I don't get what's so bad about giving me your name." I turned around to look at him. He was nonchalantly reading the small text behind the product he was holding. Damn did he look good. Those sweatpants didn’t do much for the ass if put on anyone else, but he makes it work.

 

"I don't get why you'd want it in the first place," he sighed, putting the item in his basket and turning towards me. "Judging from what I saw last night, you seem like the type to have a list of names already." 

 

"What you saw? So you were checking me out huh," I teased, but I couldn't hide the smile on my face. Neither could he hide the red that tinted his cheeks for a second. "Liked my moves?" I grinned.

 

"Please, the only reason why I even saw you was because of your 90’s dad dance moves. I mean, honestly, when were you born?” I’m deeply offended, and yet I’m extremely attracted. 

 

"And you wish it could have been you dancing with me," I smirked, indifferent to the the gradual lessening of space between us. "Come on. Just a name,  _ dear _ ." 

 

My life flashed across my eyes as he leaned in close enough to my ear for me to feel his breath on my cheek. If this was the day I died, I was ready.

 

"Sweetheart," he breathed against my skin, "I would never dance with someone who had two left feet." With that he pulled back, and turned around. I watched as he walked down the aisle, his perfectly tanned shoulder now fully exposed. He disappeared into another aisle, and I was left standing there with a heart ready to burst.

 

While I'm at it, I might as well buy aloe for that burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so very much for all the love given to the first chapter! I was extremely caught off guard at the very kind and lovely response it has received. hopefully, I haven't disappointed anyone of you with this second chapter. as you can see the point of views do alter between characters, chapter three will be in tony's again, and the cycle will follow. again, I'd like to welcome you all to sharing any thoughts you had while reading or your opinion on the story so far. thank you ♡


	3. Bruce Saves the Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's still disgruntled over his night at the club, but Bruce comes to the rescue with a cup of coffee and a few words of wisdom.

"Tony?"

 

I looked up to meet my boss's eyes. 

 

"Yes sir?" I stuttered out, suddenly realizing I hadn't paid any attention to what he had just said. 

 

"Are you alright? It's not like you to be so...distracted," he glanced at the blank piece of paper I had in front of me. "Did you not write anything of what I just said?" Sitting there dumbfounded and in possibly the most embarrassed state I've ever been, I just shook my head.  Disappointment visible on his features, he nodded and sighed, 

 

"Nevermind, I'll ask someone else to do it."  I watched him tread off to another employee's desk before slowly sinking back into my chair. 

 

"Coffee?" I turned my head to find Bruce standing in front of my desk, holding what may be the medicine to all my problems.

 

"Yes, please," I put on my best pout, but I knew he was going to give it to me anyway - Bruce has a golden heart.

 

"Oh you're so lucky I love you," he sighed, handing me the other cup in his other hand. "I was planning on giving it to Natasha." 

 

"Yeah okay," I rolled my eyes, "she doesn't even like you." 

 

I didn't have time to catch the scandalized look Bruce sent me for I was too busy drowning in the delicious scent of my coffee. I slowly brought the rim of the mug to my lips and took my first sip. The familiar taste invaded my mouth before rushing down my throat, leaving behind a tingling sensation as it cascaded down. If in the future, humans gain the ability to save tastes in their mind to have at their own disposal, this taste would be the first I'd save. Don’t ask me why that was my first thought.

 

"She's misunderstood by a lot of people, I expected you to think like that."

 

"I'm sure. That frown she gives you every morning probably means she actually secretly loves you, huh?" I replied, taking another sip of my coffee. 

 

"Okay," Bruce put his hand up to stop me from going further aka to protect the innocence of his fantasies of someday asking her out. "There are more important issues to discuss." 

 

"Your endangered lovelife is pretty important."

 

"Your job will be endangered too if you keep zoning out like you did earlier," he retorted. As much as I wanted to defend my cause, his words held some truth in them.

 

"What's wrong with you today? You're not focused, you didn't bring your own coffee today, and you forgot to complain about traffic when you first walked in here. Are you sure you're my best friend? How many girls have I had sex with?" 

 

"That's a trick question, you're gay," I answered confidently and shamelessly, receiving a shove that was borderline a punch. "Kidding, like 100 cause you're the man."

 

"I taught you well. Now, tell me what happened on Saturday to make you like this," he asked, taking his seat behind his work space, which was fortunately right behind mine. Turning around, I caught sight of his eager to listen face. 

 

"Why do you assume that my visit to the bar has anything to do with anything?" I raised my eyebrow at him, feigning annoyance despite the fact it had everything to do with why I was so completely useless even two days later.

 

"Well I didn't have a reason to, but then you just had to text me these nonsensical complaints at 3 AM when you were, I'm guessing, drunk as hell," Bruce pulled out his phone and handed it to me to show me the damage that was done.

 

_ Sender: Tony _

_ To: Me _

_ do u have a lighter  _

 

_ He was touching ass with it  _

_ bruce help _

 

_ I can never wear this shirt  _

_ ever again it has his stupid bacteria _

_ all over it  _

  
  


"So  _ do you _ have a lighter?" I implored, because I really did need to set that shirt on fire.

 

"Come on tell me," my friend insisted impatiently, and I sipped my coffee to help me get through the task of telling the story. 

 

-

 

"Wait, so you're telling me," Bruce attempted to wrap his mind around my, I admit, incoherent story, "you're angry that a cute guy's into you."

 

"He's not cute," I corrected him. He was, before he started manhandling me. But I wasn't going to share that with Bruce, knowing him he'd start swinging. He can get really worked up when he’s under pressure. He still refuses to believe I'm fully capable of fending for myself when it comes to physical confrontations. 

 

"I'm going to be honest," he said in his 'I'm-going-to-tell-you-something-you-might-not-like' voice, "I've known you for a few years now and I wouldn't take you for someone who'd turn down a really cute guy."

 

"I still have standards, you know," I reminded him.

 

"But you don't even know his name."

 

"I don't need to know what he's called to know I don't like him."

 

"But you don't know  _ anything _ about the person, how could you possibly make that judgment already?"

 

"I can say the same thing about you and Natasha," I replied, mentally flipping my hair in his direction before I turned around to finally begin some actual work. 

 

"You should be careful," I heard him sigh, "if you keep shutting people out who aren't like  _ her  _ all the time..."

 

Surprised that Bruce would reference her after all this time, I had to turn back around to read his expression. He knew how I felt about that subject matter, and how I went into great measures in order to avoid talking about it. It was buried in the past for a reason, and I felt uncomfortable hearing it come up after years of trying to forget.

 

"I mean, you've said It before haven't you? You're never going to find someone like her again. Why are you still looking?" 

 

"I'm just being careful. I thought you of all people would understand," I replied bitterly. 

 

"You know that's not right or fair to me nor you," I watched as Bruce folded his arms across his chest, "I know you the best if I do say so myself. You're not being careful Tony, who are you kidding? If it's not her, you don't really care. If it's not her, what's the point? You're being selfish - selfish to your heart."

 

I had wanted to ignore everything he said. I didn't need a lecture, especially not now. I was angry at him for the first time in what felt like decades. But Bruce knew magic. He knew how to make me listen even during the times it pained me to because he was wrong. Maybe it was because I trusted him nevertheless, and that I knew he had good intentions behind everything he said. So I sat there and absorbed everything. 

 

"I care about you Tony," he interrupted the sudden silence that threatened to drift me away, "and all I want is for you to find someone who cares for you as much as I do." 

 

"What a cheeseball," I laughed and playfully pushed over one of the action figurines decorating his desk, "I hate you." 

 

He flashed me his worst shit-eating grin before he directed his attention to the stack of papers on his desk, because he knew I was lying. I loved him to death.

 

But as I did the same, focusing on the work on my desk, his voice refused to leave my ears. It kept repeating the same words over and over, and as the day went on, I found myself unable to function until I finally admitted it.

 

I was being selfish. 

 

When I did, the voice was gone but the face of the man from the bar surfaced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 3 has come, thank you again to those who are willingly sticking with the story lol I hope you enjoyed the read, again, feedback is always welcome

**Author's Note:**

> thank you dearly for reading! if you feel like sharing any thoughts you had while reading, feel free to do so! this being my first work, I'd love to hear any feedback. spread the stony love ♡


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